


Last Christmas

by mouseinthemidnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Betrayal, Christmas, F/M, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 11:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseinthemidnight/pseuds/mouseinthemidnight
Summary: Based upon the song by Wham!. Mycroft recalls the things that happened between him and you the prior Christmas.





	Last Christmas

Christmas time had come again. It was the most insufferable time of the year. Decorations flourished on every rooftop and in every yard; music played incessantly on every radio station and in every store; people blundered around the town in a rush to buy the perfect gift for their loved ones. Worst of all, mistletoe hung in every doorway. Tittering, gushing young couples would flock under that wretched weed, desperate for any excuse to press lips together. Positively atrocious.

It should have been you and Mycroft under that mistletoe…

His parents had dragged him against his will to the miserable Christmas party your parents were holding. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were currently cheerfully chatting with your father and mother, complimenting their choice of Christmas decorations. His mother was perfectly infatuated with the amount of red and green that covered your home, being someone who cherished this time of year. Mycroft, conversely, had every right to despise this time of year, finding himself unable to keep his eyes off you as you sat on the opposite side of the room.

You were clearly making every effort to avoid eye contact with him. He may have been young, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew you were avoiding him. When he and his parents had arrived on your family’s doorstep earlier that evening, you had greeted him as though you had never met him before in your life and consequently had no intention of getting to know him better. Nevertheless, the subtle movements of your body language indicated you knew not only who he was, but also the things that had happened between the two of you the prior year.

Mycroft’s chest twinged to recall these things. He had gotten so involved. He had gotten so caught up in… feelings. He had sworn off feelings during childhood. Yet, something about you had caused him to lose the control he had over them. These were new feelings that he had never experienced in his short lifetime. He hadn’t been able to keep them bottled up. He had had to tell you.

Mycroft had gone out and found a simple, yet stunning necklace, made of your birthstone. It was something he had selected to reflect your beauty and intellect. He had wrapped the box in the finest wrapping he could find, and had tied it in the neatest bow he could tie. He had attached to the ribbon a small note, expressing all the feelings for you he had been unable put to words.

That evening, you were indeed wearing a necklace, as you sat on the other side of the room, but not the necklace he had given you last Christmas. This accessory was far more striking and luminescent, made of what Mycroft deduced to be jade. Judging by the way you were continuously smiling and placing your hand on his kneecap, the boy sitting next to you was the one who had given it to you.

Mycroft finally tore his eyes away from you and your lover, to gaze out the window he sat next to. The memory still played out perfectly in his mind, despite the amount of time that had passed since its occurrence. He had barely known what to do other than to embarrassedly shove the beautifully-wrapped box into your arms when he had seen you. 

You had curiously torn away the wrapping he had spent so much painstaking effort on, peering into the box. You had been momentarily impressed by the necklace he had chosen for you, but the instant you had finished reading his note, something in your movement had changed. You had put on a smile and politely thanked Mycroft for his gift, and then left him standing there. As you walked away, your body language had told him all the things you hadn’t bothered to say. You were disgusted by his confession and wanted nothing to do with him.

When Mycroft turned to look at you again, you were staring back at him. He didn’t waste time reading your expression for unspoken cruelty. He immediately rose from his seat on your parents’ couch and headed quickly into your parents’ kitchen, moving with as much dignity as he was still left. Your parents’ other guests were all leaning on different sections of the kitchen counter, tiredly mumbling out inane banter and downing glasses of punch. At sixteen, Mycroft would never have been offered punch himself, but he took a glass-full from the bowl anyway. None of these adults were conscientious enough to see the way you were obviously advancing on your new lover; why would they notice him taking a drink?

He secluded himself to a quieter, darker corner of the kitchen, and took a sip of the punch, all too eager to get lost in its swirling stupefication and to forget the pain that was throbbing across his entire body. He had been an idiot to ever think getting involved in feelings was a choice he should have made. He supposed it must have been because you were essentially the only girl—specifically, the only person—who would actually engage in conversation with him. He understood now that you were only being polite because he was the son of your parents’ friends. Somehow his foolish heart had gotten swept away in the hopes that someone was genuinely interested in him.

Even after what must have been an hour of standing there, the punch was still in his glass, reflecting his somber gaze back at him. He had barely taken one sip. There was no way he would be able to distract himself as long as he remained in this house. This place would always haunt him of the memory of last Christmas, when he had given you his heart.

He moved slowly out of the kitchen, back into the living room, and towards his mother, who was now standing by your Christmas tree with your mother. He softly murmured that it was high time for him to get proper sleep and that he would be taking a cab home. Both mothers protested, but Mycroft heard neither of their arguments, for he had caught sight of you under the mistletoe in the adjacent doorway, kissing your lover passionately.

After that, his vision seemed to blur. He found himself trudging emptily down your street. Snow was now falling lightly all around him, gathering under his feet in crispy bunches.

It was more than likely that a cab had passed him at some point, but he had forgotten to wave one down. The air around him grew colder, but it only matched the freeze that was overtaking his heart.

Truly, caring was not an advantage.

**Author's Note:**

> Bit late for Christmas, but I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
